Jon Stover's Website

i went to the barber i
normally go to when i'm in
rochester. i go to him
because he's two blocks
from my house, not because
he's awesome. we had the
following conversation
(word for word):

him: "how do you want it."

me: "do your thing."

my barber asked the obligatory "how
do you like it?" and i responded with
the standard "looks nice." it was
shorter than i was hoping for, but eh,
what the hell.

a couple of days before leaving i thought "you know what'd be nice?, i should get a haircut
and shave my hobo beard." after all, i'm going to be in some pictures in the next few week.

here's a picture taken a few days earlier (while wine tasting in the ny finger lakes with a
couple of friends):

when i got home and saw myself in the mirror, i realized the hair cut did not "look nice"
and i should never have offered my barber the creative license to "do his thing."

my impulse was to buzz my head right then and there, but i though maybe this could be
salvaged in a less reckless way. so i turned to the only thing that could help me now:
SuperCuts.

so i went to SuperCuts, explained the situation to my new hairdresser, and, to my mild
annoyance, the hairdresser didn't seem to think the cut was that bad. instead, she seemed
to think that i was some kind of anal-retentive perfectionist, and about a dozen times
during the four-minute cut asked "is this okay?" and "what else do you want?" as if i was
going to storm out and demand a third hair cut from someone new.

she also told me that a hurricane had just ravaged the caribbean, and i should make sure
if it's still safe to go there. (is that even true? i can't imagine it is. i don't even want to
check and find out.)

anyways, if the first hair cut was a 1 out of 10, the SuperCuts chick bumped it up to a 2.